


Upside Down, Holding One's Breath

by aibidil



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Allergic Rhinitis, Awkward Conversations, Digital Rectal Massage, Falling In Love, First Dates, Hiccups, Hogwarts Professors, Intractable Hiccups, M/M, No Nonsense Nurses, Nonattachment, Post-Hogwarts, Reminders of one's past smugness, Unabridged Medical Records, Unexpected Cures, Wooing with vitamins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-29 06:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19824430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aibidil/pseuds/aibidil
Summary: Draco has the hiccoughs; Harry drags him to Madam Pomfrey for a cure. It isn't what they expected.





	Upside Down, Holding One's Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to [this post](https://aibidil.tumblr.com/post/186305554957/new-fanfic-trope), because I needed a break from serious writing and missed these two.
> 
> Thank you to **frnklymrshnkly** for betaing.

“Professor Malfoy,” Pomfrey says, glancing up from a medical record with Draco’s eleven-year-old face on the front. Draco doesn’t think it’s reasonable for her to use his school medical record now that he is an adult (and a professor, at that). It doesn’t seem right for her to flip past hippogriff-induced injuries and Potter-inflicted curses every time he pops in for a dose of Pepper-Up. She continues, “Are you quite sure you’re allergic to mugwort?”

“Yes,” Draco confirms. _Hiccough._ “I’m allergic to all the artemisias.”

In the seat next to the examination table, Harry Potter—the curse-inflictor himself—snickers.

“What’s,” _hiccough_ , “so funny, Potter?”

Potter’s laughter escapes. “You’re sitting here, unable to stop hiccoughing, and you’re allergic to an entire group of plants, and I’m just imagining you sitting inside your big manor house as a kid, hiccoughing and sneezing, and your mother telling you to stay inside because the outside world is too dangerous and your constitution too fragile.” Harry pauses. “Which, to be clear, is funny because that is very much _not_ the image you usually give off.”

Draco frowns, his eyes narrowing. _Hiccough._ Harry’s fanciful imagining is closer to reality than Draco would like to admit. Allergy Elixir had been a constant in his childhood, and he resents Harry’s implications about allergy-sufferers.

Pomfrey puts a hand on her hip. “And how long has this been going on?”

 _Hiccough._ “Not long.”

Harry points a finger at Draco. “Three days.”

“It was never that long,” Draco drawls. _Hiccough._

“It was Friday,” Harry insists. “I met you after the first block to walk to lunch and you were hiccoughing the entire walk down.”

“Well it does no use to dwell on it,” Draco says. _Hiccough._ “I know that I am unable to take Hiccoughing Solution or its variations, because they rely on mugwort or other artemisias.”

Harry turns to Pomfrey and makes a can-you-believe-him gesture. _Hiccough._

“Has it gotten worse, Professor Malfoy? What made you decide to finally come in?”

“I didn’t.” Draco turns to glare at Harry. “We were supposed to be on our way to Hogsmeade, and Potter told me he needed to stop by the Hospital Wing to drop something off. He _coerced_ me.”

“I was looking out for your well-being,” Harry corrects. “Merlin knows you won’t look after it yourself. Hiccoughing for three straight days, no end in sight.”

 _Hiccough._

“Yes, thank you, Professor Potter,” Pomfrey says. “This is exactly why people with partners live longer than those without, because someone is around to make sure they seek attention when they need it.” She flips open the record and starts thumbing through it, oblivious to Draco’s shock.

Does she think—does Madam _Pomfrey_ think that he and Harry are— _lovers_?!

 _Hiccough._ How many other people think that?

Granted, he _had_ asked Harry on a date to Hogsmeade. One might say it was about time, but he’d gotten there eventually and is glad that Pansy can no longer harass him about it. But they aren’t a couple! Not yet, anyway. _Hiccough._

Sure, they had become friends—as the only two Hogwarts professors under the age of 84, that was only to be expected. Sure, they went flying together—as former team players, they would. _Hiccough._ And perhaps they spent most of their free time together, even on weekends, rather than Apparating to see other friends and relations. It doesn’t mean anything. It _certainly_ doesn’t mean Harry is in charge of Draco’s health maintenance and Healer appointments.

Suddenly Draco very much regrets having told Pomfrey that Harry could sit in on this examination. _Hiccough._ Is it too late to renege?

“Alright then,” Pomfrey says, “we need a non-potion treatment. I haven’t ever encountered this allergy in clinic before, so I need to go consult recent medical literature to see what’s recommended. Give me five minutes or so.” She bustles out of the room.

“Does she think we’re a couple?” Draco asks, outraged. _Hiccough._

“Says the person who is literally _on a date_ with me right now,” Potter says, feigning offense.

“This is our first date!” Draco says, throwing a hand up. _Hiccough._ “And wait, no! _This_ is not our date. Sitting in the Hospital Wing discussing my medical history is decidedly _not_ our first date. When we leave, the date can commence. I can’t believe you tricked me into coming here.” _Hiccough._

“I can’t believe you were going to go on a date with me while hiccoughing every five seconds! What were you planning to do, just hiccough forever?”

Draco sighs. “I tried holding my breath. I tried scaring myself—took out my old copy of the Monster Book of Monsters. I tried standing on my head. I tried drinking an entire glass of water in one go. I tried casting Aguamenti while crossing my fingers. And nothing fucking worked!” _Hiccough._ “So in the end I decided to practice nonattachment.”

Harry turns in his chair, his mouth gaping. “You decided to _practice nonattachment?_ ” 

Draco’s hand flies up, his finger pointing at Harry. “You’re the one who made me start meditating! Don’t make fun of me for it!”

“I didn’t _make_ you! You can’t make someone meditate,” Harry says. “I just don’t understand how you can just accept that you’re going to hiccough for the rest of your life. You’re a wizard! Surely there’s a solution!”

“Well, I guess we’ll find out,” Draco grumps, gesturing to where Pomfrey had disappeared. _Hiccough._ “I hate coming in here and seeing my smug little face on that record.”

Harry’s face melts into empathy. “Ugh, me too. I like to pretend that people don’t remember me as the half-starved, clueless, neglected orphan.”

 _Hiccough._ “People don’t.” It’s true—though Draco had seen him that way for a long time. Well, as that plus an enormous prat. But he doesn’t now. Harry’s just—Harry. A fantastic Defence teacher, fun to be around, caring, hilarious, self-deprecating. He knows all his students’ problems and keeps in touch with Luna Lovegood by long letters. He’s not that scrawny kid. He’s a non-scrawny, unreasonably attractive adult. Some people—strangers—might think of him as the famous Saviour, but no one thinks of Harry as that little kid, now. _Hiccough._

“People don’t see you that way, either,” Harry says, and Draco somehow expects him to be taking the piss, but when he meets Harry’s eyes, all he sees is openness and honesty.

 _Hiccough._ Draco makes a derisive little snort to dismiss Harry’s compliment. 

“Really, Draco. They don’t. They see a snarky Potions professor who has given out maybe ten Os in as many years, but who is the best teacher they’ve ever had. They see a coworker who brews personalised potions when he notices they’ve been a bit sniffly. They see a lanky arse who always loses at Quidditch to the handsome Defence teacher.”

Draco snorts again, rolling his eyes, but unable to keep the smile off his face and his chest from feeling like it may burst. _Hiccough._

Pomfrey walks back in, her mouth pressed tight. 

“You didn’t find anything,” Draco says, unsurprised but disappointed.

“I didn’t say that.” Her mouth screws up to the side; she looks as if she’s trying to find the correct words. “What I am about to say may be of a sensitive nature, so if you’d like Professor Potter to step out…”

What can possibly be sensitive about a treatment for hiccoughs? _Hiccough._ “No, it’s fine,” Draco says.

“Very well.” She places Draco’s medical record on the table. “Digital rectal massage.”

Draco’s eyes fly open; Harry chokes, coughing and grabbing at his throat.

“What!?” Draco hisses. _Hiccough._

“The most efficacious non-potion remedy for intractable hiccoughs is digital rectal massage.”

Harry manages to stop spluttering, but his face remains bright red. “Digital as in—with an electric, er, device?”

Pomfrey turns to him in what seems like slow motion. _Hiccough._ “Digital as in _with one’s digits._ Fingers, Professor Potter.”

Harry’s mouth visibly drops, then clamps shut.

“Additionally,” Pomfrey says, and how can there be more? “Orgasms stimulate the vagus nerve, which is also useful in calming intractable hiccoughs. My professional recommendation, therefore, is for digital rectal massage culminating in orgasm.”

 _Hiccough._

Draco has the sudden, horrifying image of Pomfrey handing him a gown and Scourgifying her hands, ready to administer the cure. He jumps up from the examination table. He looks at Harry and cocks his head to indicate a hasty imminent departure. “Well, thank you very much for that information, then, Madam Pomfrey.”

Harry stands, wiping his hands on his pants, looking supremely uncomfortable.

“Professor Potter,” Pomfrey says, “do see to it that Professor Malfoy doesn’t hurt himself.”

Draco is going to murder this woman. All these post-war years working on his morality and his image—gone. Because Poppy Pomfrey told Harry fucking Potter to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself sticking a finger up his arse.

Draco bursts from the room and out of the wing, stopping in the corridor and waiting for Harry to catch up with him.

“Well,” Harry says as the doors latch shut behind them. “That was...unexpected.”

“Shut up,” Draco snaps. _Hiccough._ “I don’t want to hear one word from you.”

“Draco.”

 _Hiccough._ “Shut _up._ ”

“Look, I’m not going to go to dinner on our first official date with you hiccoughing every other second.”

 _Hiccough._ “Official?”

Harry turns to face Draco, hands on hips. “Oh come on, Draco, we’ve practically been dating for months. Years, even. We know everything about each other. You probably know when I last took my vitamin potion, which, by the way, you made me, with extra B12.”

“Yesterday at breakfast.” _Hiccough._

“See?! Anyway, it can only nominally be described as a first date, but I’m not going on it with your spasming fucking diaphragm.”

_Hiccough._

“I worked up the nerve to ask you out!” Draco bursts. _Hiccough._ “After ages! I am not going to let this,” _hiccough,_ “mess with my plans! Look at me!” _Hiccough._ “I am non-attached!”

With no warning, Harry leans forward and presses their lips together. It takes Draco by surprise, and he needs a moment to grab onto Harry’s elbows and return the kiss. 

He hiccoughs into Harry’s mouth.

“The question is not whether we’re cancelling the date,” Harry whispers, grinning. _Hiccough._ “The question is whether you want a hand with your, er, cure, or if you want to do that on your own. We can still make it to dinner. I’ll just wait in the corridor, if you like. How long will that take, really?”

Draco bursts out laughing. “Did you just say, ‘Do you want a _hand_ ’?” _Hiccough._

Harry honks a laugh. “Unintentional pun. But also, it’s a sincere offer.” He holds his hand up and wiggles his digits. Draco can read the scar that says _I must not tell lies._

 _Hiccough._ “You’re not fucking waiting in the corridor,” Draco says, grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling them towards his quarters.

“Is that your way of asking for the assistance of my digits?” Harry asks, laughing.

Draco refuses to turn around to see the amused look on Potter’s fucking face. _Hiccough._

“Is that how you proposition all your men?”

“Shut up,” Draco says, failing to hold in a laugh. “Or I _will_ make you wait in the corridor.” _Hiccough._

They don’t make it to Hogsmeade.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](https://aibidil.tumblr.com)!


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